Shape Shifter
by time-will-give-us-nothing
Summary: "Death is only a foot away from me – literally. All of it over – my thought, my memories, my past, my future…they will go into the black abyss titled 'Nothingness', because they are not matter, nor do they. It's terrifying." Following Draco's failure to murder Dumbledore, he must confront Lord Voldemort. References to drug abuse and sex. Complete.


**Title: **Shape Shifter**  
Rating: **T, with references to drug abuse and sex.  
**Summary: **Following Draco's failure to murder Dumbledore, he must confront Lord Voldemort.  
**Author's Note:** I am so happy to be writing again. I have had so many plots going through my head, but every time I attempted to write them, I failed. Today I have succeeded. This story is based on the song _'Shape Shifter'_ by _Local Natives_. I apologize for spelling and grammatical mistakes. Thank you very much for reading, and reviews are always welcomed.  
**Word Count:** 2,160

"You have failed me."

Of course I have. It's undisputable. I have failed him, my Lord. I have failed them, the Malfoy linage. And of course, I have failed me, myself. I am a failure – that is certain. He will murder me, as well as my family, for my inability to perform the task he assigned me, just as he has promised. The value we once posed to him has crumbled into nothingness. I kneel before him, surrounded by my nothingness, awaiting the strike, the inevitable.

"Do you have anything you would like to say for yourself?"

Yes – No. My lips, cold and pale, tremble. If I tried to speak, it would come out as a blubbering mess, and my tear ducts wouldn't be able to hold back the unfathomable tears they've been doing so well to restrict up until now. I do not want to think about the future. I do not want to think about my death. I do not want to think. I just want him to _do_ it. Surely, with the task completed, albeit not by me, he will have mercy. Must it fail him now?

"Nothing at all?"

Yes. Nothing.

His voice slithers across me coolly. "Answer me, Draco."

But I have n –

"Draco."

I have nothing –

There is a shout. "Answer him, fool!"

Oh, Father. "I have nothing to say, my Lord." My voice reflects what I am – weak. Hurt. Broken. Because he's broken me. I am not who I was. I have come from my head being high to it bowed in service to him. I try to remember if this is what I wanted.

I can't. I slowly lift my head, following my Lord's sleek black robes to his neck, then chin, then mouth, then nose – if those slits can be considered that – to his eyes. They are black. Endlessly black. Deathly. My breath halts. "What would it…matter anyways?"

I am thrown backwards. The bones in my back, namely my spine, collide with the stone wall that holds the fire place. I scream a scream that is shortly lived (it is lost in my throat as I bite hard on my lip) while I slide down into a useless, heaving heap on the floor. My vision fails me for a few moments. There is an itch in my throat and when I cough, thick, gunky blood spews outwards.

When I gather the strength to look up, he is gazing at me. There is humor in the soulless eyes of his. The Death Eaters lining the perimeter of the room are either bent over with cackles, grim-faced, or expressionless. My eyes slide slightly beyond the Dark Lord.

Severus is an example of the last. I study him for a while, unwilling to start another bout with my Lord again. Severus is a statue. The memories I have of him, most hauntingly the memories of the past year, make me think of him differently. I cannot chance a glance to Father or Mother, but Severus…

The echo of Lord Voldemort's approaching transports me back to reality. As he nears, however, a most strange thing takes over him. His green skin bubbles most mysteriously, twisting and tightening. His height is gradually declining, and tufts of golden brown hair start growing from his once-bald scalp. His bone structure morphs beneath skin that is now human-toned into something most…most handsome.

The flats of my hands press against the stone, as does my back. I want to get away from this. I don't want to be anywhere _near_ it. I don't want to see him, or his old form. The young, fine-featured, teenage Lord Voldemort is a façade, but it scares me. It scares me so much. Imagining him _normal_, like _me_, makes me want to vomit. I can't look at him. I won't.

My eyes downcast appropriately. My Adam's apple bobs when I gulp back the rising bile. My eyes shut without me even realizing. At the same time, my hands come to cup my ears, and I've turned inwards. I am a shivering mess.

Death is only a foot away from me – literally. It will be over in upcoming seconds. All of it over – my thought, my memories, my past, my future…they will go into the black abyss titled 'Nothingness', because they are not matter, nor _do_ they. It's terrifying. So terrifying, and it's why I didn't want to think about it, or any of this. I just wanted it over; he was supposed to be merciful –

I gasp.

His hand, soft and warm and fleshy, is on me. His fingers are long and delicate, like mine, and they brush into my hair. They pull my fringe back, exposing my forehead. His hand is there next. Then, it is on my cheek. His fingers are unbearably soft; his touch is lithe and tender. His index finger curls around my chin. A whimper escapes me. The breath I didn't know I was restraining releases suddenly, loudly. Tears squeeze from my eyes. I am so afraid.

With a tug, my head is jerked upwards. My eyes snap open, saucer-sized and tear-glazed, only to be caught, and locked, with his. In this moment, I am deflowered. My vulnerability is abused. His consciousness slips past the barriers that I was so tired of upholding, but so necessary _to_ uphold, and he is inside me. The crack that allowed his entrance is torn right open, leaving a gigantic rip in my conscious. His presence suffocates me. My eyes roll back, a futile attempt to escape him. His exploration ravages my essence. Insanity is only milliseconds away.

He recedes.

"Oh my…my sweet, cowardly Dragon…"

I succumb, not of my own will, to blackness. Seconds later, I'm wrenched from the haven.

A curse, one I know intimately, is suddenly casted onto me. I writher and twitch and bellow and howl. My muscles seize and relax, seize and relax. Rejoined by the possibility of insanity, I rip off my robe and shirt blindly. I am on fire. My fingers rake at my skin, clawing at any exposed flesh. When the curse comes to a close, I collapse from the extreme arch I put myself in. Rugged scores mark my inflamed skin. Blood trickles from the self-inflicted wounds, as well from my broken nails.

I could've held it back. But then again, I couldn't. Turning on my side, barely able to hold myself up, I roar:

"I HATE YOU!"

Because I do. I hate him, I hate everything he's done to my family, I hate everything he's done to me, and my life, and my friends, and my world. I hate the mark he's branded on my arm, I hate the pain he's forced me to feel, I hate the sickness he's caused me to undergo. I hate anything and everything that has to do with him. I wish he would die. I wish my world to go back to normal, where I can be arrogant and free, and not restricted or chained to his biddings, and his morals, and his actions. I want to be freed from his tyranny.

…but I am not free.

I turn on my back and wail a long, winding wail. It is very unbecoming of me. But I want them to understand. I want them to hear what our Lord has done to me. If only they would understand what I went through this past year…if only. The depression, sorrow, drug and alcohol abuse, cutting, near-suicide attempts…it all is buried inside of me.

And now, on display.

Above, on the ceiling, is a white mist. Images are being projected onto it – no, not images, but films – and sound, in-tune with each film, is filling the room. My whimpers come to a gradual halt as I see each film start and come to completion above me. When one melts away, another takes its place seamlessly.

These are my memories – recollections of my drug-abuse, which all began last summer at Durmstrang, and of my scratches with 'rock bottom' at Hogwarts. Visions of me tearing apart chairs and tables and frankly, anything I got my hands on after snorting a line of coke, flutters across the cloudy mist. Me resting in the Prefect's bathroom with my wand cutting severe, bloody lines into my arms and legs comes across the fog as well. Other things, like my nightly trips to the Room of Requirement to play the grand piano and sing, appear. Sex, to fuel my addiction and release tension, slides onto the cloud-screen.

…it is 'homosexual sex'.

…with Blaise.

…my one and only roommate.

His coos of 'I love you' and 'I will protect you' and 'You are safe with me' pull at my heart. He was so very aware of my situation.

There is the memory of my confrontation with Potter in the girl's restroom. The Death Eaters watching hiss and growl at his appearance. Like so many other memories that are exposed, I am crying. The events of that night followed. After the memory concludes, the final manifests.

It is of me storming into what I considered my safe-haven: the Room of Requirement. Tears, once again, blemish my cheeks. My sore, pink eyes immediately land on the piano. I don't raise my wand – the piano simply explodes. The flash is bright blue and blinding. It whites out the whole memory. When the light dies, I am picking myself off the floor and chucking pieces of wood and ivory keys at the walls. Lyrics spill from my lips:

_My king, I'm humbled before you, I bow  
Moods like you're pulled by the moonlight, somehow…_

I am shown downing something out of a flask, which immediately takes effect. I wobble, worse than before, and repeatedly trip over my own feet. My song crescendos and my voice slurs repeatedly. The cuts in my hands and arms bleed immensely. I begin collecting shards of glass and splinters of wood, shrieking:

_Psycho, you killer, you cancer, my friend  
Why don't you give me an answer?_

I am now curled in a corner, implanting jagged slivers of glass into my left forearm, where the Dark Mark resides. Blood taints my skin. The mark darkens significantly. The beat of my heart, once fast, but now very slow, can be heard. I whisper faintly, pulling the glass through my skin:

_Why does the…s-soul…hallucinate..?  
I've got…c-control…I shift my –my…my shape…_

My reflection – delirious, crazed, and insane – catches in the glass.

_If flesh…and b-bone…do not c-contain…  
The mirrors don't….reflect…  
…my…_

…_face…_

The memory darkens. The mist evaporates. Silence rings.

A _creeeaaaak…._

I turn. Voldemort stands before me, the tip of his wand directly between my eyebrows.

My eyelids flutter shut. Thought has escaped me. Fear is not present. I am not sure where it has gone. Maybe it is not gone at all? I shake so violently. Yes…it is hidden, but it is here, affecting me. The end is so close. Two words left until darkness…

Lips, thin and ice-like, press against my ear.

"You may hate me, my dear Draco. You may want me dead. You may want to be free, sweet Dragon. But you are not free. The brand on your arm, which could never be severed by such flippant attempts as yours, signifies your enslavement to me. You are my tool, and my property. You are shackled, just like the dragon guarding your Auntie's vault. Your life is mine to do away with. You will never forget that."

My lips part to reply, but nothing past a choked grunt comes forth. My Lord stands to full height and dismisses the meeting. He disapparates in a cloud of thick grey smoke, the Death Eaters following. I lay there, unmoved. Numbness overcomes me. Emotions that were once riled up so fiercely inside me are dead, buried. Hollowness so great, so heavy, melts into me.

A gentle hand encases my shoulder. Severus kneels next to me. I want to explain the emptiness that sheathes me. I can't. He tucks my head into his shoulder, and I weep. For hours we stay like this. I do not know what has become of Father or Mother. I cannot find the empathy inside me to care. I weep further until I can no longer shed tears. In my Godfather's arms, I close my raped conscious to reality and enter the realm that will never be solely my own again.

**End  
**_Reviews Welcomed_


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